


The Sixteenth Floor

by JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1897269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tag to the episode "Dead Drop," where Blair is trapped in an elevator controlled by a terrorist.  Can he get past that experience?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sixteenth Floor

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published in the zine Black Ops #1, a tag to the episode "Dead Drop"

_Do it now. Right now. Or you never will_.

          Blair eyed the building looming above them with uneasy determination as Jim swung the truck into a parking space and stopped. The engine rumbled into silence, and Blair took a silent, deep breath as he followed Jim out of the vehicle, falling into step as they headed toward the twenty-story business building in downtown Seattle and ignoring the sentinel's sidelong glance.

 _I never knew how many people were murdered, every day in this city. I guess it says something for how well we've done in solving cases that the Seattle police force wanted to pull Jim in on this one_. But the attempt at self-distraction failed to lessen the tension thrumming through him as he neared the entrance.

          Two police officers strode through the doors, nodding to Jim and Blair as they exited, and the anthropologist felt a small thrill at the casual recognition in their greetings. They didn't know him personally, but he and Jim had worked off and on with the Seattle force enough that now they were recognized. And even now, months after he'd been accepted by Simon and his department, the acceptance of himself as part of this community still fascinated and warmed him. And that acceptance was growing, too, he knew, as he worked with Jim, which was good.

 _Yes, good, because—_ The thought fell apart as they stepped through the doors into the lobby. And there it was.

          Blair swallowed, and wiped his hands on his pants, trying to relax against the twinge of panic that curled across his shoulder blades. He deliberately inhaled, expanding lungs tightening with adrenaline-rush, and set his jaw, not following when Jim strode toward the door leading to the stairs.

          "It's on the sixteenth floor, isn't it."

          Blair's comment slowed Jim, and he stopped, turning. "Yeah, Chief, it is."

          "Then let's take the elevator," said Blair, surprised at the steadiness of his voice, and stepped toward it.

          There was a moment's silence, and then Jim caught up with him, silent, though Blair was aware of his friend's gaze on him as he punched the call button.

          "You sure about this, Chief?" Jim asked quietly as one of the three elevators dinged, the doors sliding open to show an empty car.

          Not trusting his voice, Blair forced his legs to move, gritting his teeth against the fear that threatened to freeze him to the floor.

          Jim followed him in, holding up his badge to deter two young men from joining them on the lift. As the doors slid closed he moved closer to Blair, not touching him but ready, the anthropologist knew, if he needed anything.

          The car started up, and Blair forgot about Jim, fighting back memories of the sensation. _Breathe_ , he told himself. _Just breathe. Nothing else_. That was all that counted right now, and he knew that this time, the first time, would be the roughest. Getting through it was all that counted, and to do that… _Breathe_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim watched Blair grit his teeth, heard the forced breathing and the faster heartbeat, and silently damned the terrorist who had trapped the younger man in a falling elevator almost a month past. His own memories of that experience were something he tried to avoid, but now they swept over him, all the stronger for his partner's presence.

          Helpless to aid his friend, he had been forced to watch Blair fall, and fall, and fall again, each time closer to disaster. He wasn't accustomed to being out of control, and those moments of terror had frozen the experience in his mind, crystal clear and cold. And when the bomb had gone off… That was, possibly, the worst moment of his life as he visualized Blair vaporized, gone, dead. The empty despair that had swamped him had only been held off by his duty as an officer of the law, and he had clung to that thread of responsibility as all that could keep him sane.

          Being "out of control" was something that he just hadn't allowed until Blair threw himself into Jim's life. Although perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he hadn't felt out of control until his sentinel senses re-activated. Blair had just strengthened that feeling with his tendency to get into trouble.

          Blair drew in a long, slow breath, fighting to keep his heartbeat under control, and Jim moved closer to him, leaning back against the wall without touching him. He remembered the fears he'd had to fight across the years, and those things that had triggered them, and knew that Blair must fight this terror on his own. Touching him would only distract him, stealing his strength when he needed its focus.

          He thought back to that day, allowing himself to touch the memories. Blair had seemed fine just afterward, laughing and talking with Jim and showing no more tension than the adrenalin-induced high that naturally followed such an event. Jim hadn't been surprised at Blair's silent avoidance of elevators for the next few weeks, though he had been grateful that the highest building they'd had to deal with had only been five stories. But now…

          The elevator slowed to a halt, and Jim glanced at the floor number. Ten. He stepped in front of Blair and held up his badge as the door opened to reveal a dark-haired man in a business suit, scowling as he glanced back over his shoulder. He had one foot in the lift before he saw the grim-looking officer and froze, eyes widening as he took in the scene.

          "Out," said Jim, gesturing. The man backed hastily off the elevator and stood watching as the door slid closed.

          A weak chuckle made Jim turn. Blair smiled faintly at him, the expression a shadow of his ordinary grin. "Bet you just made his day. Big, bad cop." He caught his breath as the elevator started to move again, the smile dying.

          Jim's lips lifted slightly, determined to distract his friend. "It'll keep him in line." He watched silently as Blair's hands locked in a white-knuckled grip on the railing siding the walls. "We can stop and take the stairs the rest of the way, Chief."

          Blair shook his head, a small movement but definite. "No."

          Jim took a breath, remembering other partners and buddies, in wartime and at home. Sometime or other, all of them had faced their limits, dealing with fearful experiences that either broke them or strengthened them, but all of which left their mark. PTSD was a common theme across them all, and Jim shook his head, frowning.

          The other theme common across the years and partnerships was the courage his friends had displayed in working through the PTSD, and watching Blair's shoulders lift as he drew a deep breath, Jim smiled, pride growing in him. The young anthropologist was certainly not the least of those he'd worked with, and the courage he showed was no less and often more than Jim expected. But then, that was Blair.

          A brother-in-arms, Jim thought, and smiled as the elevator slowed to a stop, the floor number gleaming red above them. And Jim draped his arm across Blair's shoulders as the doors opened, feeling his friend relax into the grip, releasing the rails and moving forward with Jim as they stepped into the hustle of the murder scene on the sixteenth floor.

The End


End file.
